


i had a song called danger

by belikebumblebee



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/F, Up to a point anyway
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-09
Updated: 2019-07-09
Packaged: 2020-06-25 06:21:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19740010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/belikebumblebee/pseuds/belikebumblebee
Summary: "do you even want to go?"it's a question she would have expected from caleb or caduceus, maybe even fjord with his bouts of sudden insight, but beauregard? she's supposed to be rough and sloppy, maybe say something sharp, something abrasive. make this painful, but not hard.instead, yasha feels like there is nowhere she could go where beau's gaze would not still rest on her. and strangely, it isn't painful at all; the same way a patch of sunlight falling through the leaves of a tree doesn't burn.





	i had a song called danger

**i.**

the truth feels like sea water in her clothes and her hair, weighing her down heavily; leaking into her ears, burning in her throat and stomach, freezing cold and shocking her insides.

it rolls over her in overpowering waves, and all her strength leaves her in the face of what she's done. 

her mind flashes back to the vision she once had, and it looks different in her mind now: not her friends, not molly, not jester and beau. 

her entire tribe, cut down where they stood. her parents, her uncle, the elder mother. all dead.

"yasha," she hears someone say. "yasha, are you okay? do you want to talk about it? yasha… maybe this isn't true. maybe you were a rock star, and he's just messing with your head because… he's jealous of how good you were, and--"

"jester, just-- leave it for now, alright?" someone else says. 

"come on." a third voice. "let's get you seated. i'll put on some tea."

her mind swirls with red and gray and pain. 

"if it helps," a grating voice by her elbow says, "if they had taken my husband from me, i would have killed them all, too."

grotesquely, it makes her hack out an ugly laugh, and some of the color returns. nott grins up at her, crooked and a little sad. "and look at caleb here. he killed his parents, and he's the second most brilliant man in the world." 

there's more; she's saying more. but yasha is drifting away again, makes herself say sentences that may or may not make sense.

lets the water take her under.

*

she packs up quietly, very quietly. 

the crickets and caduceus's snores will surely drown out her steps in the dry grass as she sneaks out, except-- 

"there's no thunder." 

yasha's heart almost stops. 

"no rain, no nothing. so… you're not being called. if you're not sneaking out for your stormlord, does that mean you're not coming back this time?"

beau is on her stomach, stretched out on her bedroll, eyes glittering in the starlight. her chin is propped up on her crossed forearms. 

when yasha says nothing, she shrugs. 

"i won't wake the others. but if you're going to leave, you should at least say goodbye to jester, or it'll really fuck her up."

her backpack slides off her shoulder. under beau's observant, knowing eyes, she finds she can't move.

"do you even want to go?"

it's a question she would have expected from caleb or caduceus, maybe even fjord with his bouts of sudden insight, but beauregard? she's supposed to be rough and sloppy, maybe say something sharp, something abrasive. make this painful, but not hard.

instead, yasha feels like there is nowhere she could go where beau's gaze would not still rest on her. and strangely, it isn't painful at all; the same way a patch of sunlight falling through the leaves of a tree doesn't burn. 

"...i don't know," she finally admits quietly.

that earns her another soft shrug from beau.

"i'd say that maybe you should figure that out first. but what do i know," she adds, and turns onto her back, finally breaking her gaze. and then, too quickly and in that deep voice beau uses sometimes: "if it helps your decision, none of us _want_ you to go."

yasha just keeps standing there, caught between not leaving and not staying. 

*

they fight. direwolves, goblins, a powerful mage. 

yasha lets her sword sing and wonders if this is how the long line of her people’s culture ended, with the hum of sharp metal and the dull thud of the hit. sometimes it’s hard to reach that place that allows her to be strong and reckless, sometimes she can barely stand to step out of the red clouds that let her escape from the pain for a while.

beau catches an arrow that was meant for her, and afterwards, caduceus heals her broken ribs, or bleeding arm, or sore muscles. nott and jester pick flowers for her. 

they keep going.

*

_she’s beautiful, and yasha had forgotten about the way she would brush her hair back over her shoulder. she smiles and laughs when she sees yasha, and it almost brings her to her knees._

_“zuala,” she breathes, “zuala, how are you here, where--”_

_but zuala can’t seem to hear her, and she doesn’t get closer, even though yasha is running towards her now, almost stumbling over her own feet._

_“i have something for you,” yasha tries to say, “i found them, and i saved them all for you--”_

_but the more she runs, the farther away she seems to get, blurring, and suddenly it’s like her wife was never there at all, and yasha is alone._

_she stands in a field of flowers, endless and empty._

*

it’s jester who comes to find her on the cliff, overlooking the valley below. they’ve set up camp high on the mountain, too tired to make the pass tonight. 

the air feels wrong up here, too warm for this altitude, but it’s summer, after all. 

“hello, yasha,” jester says as she plops down next to her. “how are you?”

she doesn’t know how to answer this, so she says: “i’m okay. and you?”

jester smiles at her. “i’m okay, too; thank you, yasha.” it’s so friendly and warm, and yasha wonders if they take care of jester enough -- if she should ask how she’s doing more often, should pay attention more. “you know, sometimes i really miss molly.”

that cuts through her, cold and sudden like a knife. 

“me, too,” she finally manages to say. “i miss him a lot.”

“what do you think he would say if he was still here?” jester wonders aloud. “maybe he could read in his cards and tell us if the weather is going to be nice tomorrow. do you think he would like sprinkles?”

yasha thinks back. people in the carnival used to say his face was hard to read because of his eyes, but yasha never had trouble understanding the curve of his grin and the crease of his brow. 

“i’m sure he would, jester,” she says quietly.

for a while, they just sit, and yasha waits for jester to say whatever it is that’s keeping her so occupied and quiet.

in the end, it turns out to be: “you’re still really sad, aren’t you?”

the words ring out in the hollow of yasha’s chest, and if she listens closely, she can hear them faintly strike a chord somewhere deep down. 

“yeah.” she doesn’t know what else to say. 

*

she can’t shake thoughts of molly, after that. 

_what’s in the past is in the past_ , he might have said, maybe. yasha isn’t as good at figuring out what people would say as jester is. but he was a big believer in going forward, wasn’t he?

yasha leafs through the pages of her book slowly, as the cart they acquired takes them eastward. 

the wind picks up one of the pressed flowers and takes it away. yasha’s heart lurches and she tries to grab it, but like a feather, it escapes her--

beau, alerted by her sudden movement, sees the fluttering blossom, and is gone like an arrow. 

as if rooted to the spot herself, yasha watches as she vaults off the moving cart, and her hands are so much quicker than seems realistic, she darts, and grabs-- 

but there’s a gust of wind, and even though beau jumps higher than any human should be able to, the flower is gone. 

“i tried,” she says, apologetic, as she climbs back onto the cart a few moments later. 

yasha, bewildered, just looks down at the book in her hands, and back up at beauregard.

“thank you,” she says. 

as caduceus clicks his tongue and the cart starts moving again, she watches the road unfold in front of her.

molly would have had something to say about this, she’s pretty sure.

*

she sets one of the flowers down carefully on the surface of the lake they find deep beneath the hills, watches it float away slowly, and feels like a piece of her is going with it.

a moment later, frumpkin jumps up on her shoulder, purring and putting his wet little nose in her ear. 

*

“hey yasha, watch this!” beau calls, and yasha looks up just in time for beau to do a backflip off fjord’s shoulders, right onto the troll’s back, lighting up her gloves as she flies through the air. 

she barely takes time to steady herself before she lands two punches in quick succession, _pop-pop_ , in the back of its head.

the troll staggers and sinks to its knees, and beauregard, light-footed, steps down its body like it’s nothing. she winks when she catches yasha looking.

her own knees are feeling a little weak, too.

*

the desert is unrelentingly endless. yasha rarely ever misses the swamp, but here she is, fantasizing about the wet smack of her boots with every step. 

jester, who they all expected to love the sun, is suffering the most: “i’m really thirsty, you guys,” she says for what must be the twentieth time, but her voice is weak, and no one can muster enough strength to be annoyed. 

caduceus keeps them all hydrated, but with the heat surging up from all around them, it can hardly keep their spirits up. 

at night, they have to huddle close in the little safe alcove caleb makes for them; when the sun goes, it takes all its warmth with it. 

at night, yasha lies wedged between nott and beauregard, and the only person she wants to talk to about her racing heart is zuala -- but zuala is gone.

she leaves another flower for her here, where nothing else seems to grow.

zuala never got to travel this far. 

*

there’s an incident. 

caleb tried to talk to beau about it, but got a door to the face for his troubles, so they don’t bring it up anymore.

but they meet dairon in a small border town, and she and beau seem to get into some sort of fight -- yasha doesn’t begin to pay attention to their conversation a couple of tables away until there’s a loud noise, and beau’s hand is flat on the table. 

“you either trust me, or your don’t,” yasha hears her hiss. 

dairon’s answer is a low murmur, and yasha can’t understand beau’s response, either -- but the way she points back to their group is hard to miss. her face is hard and smooth, and a few moments later, she’s gone. 

dairon stays behind, and, after a beat, catches yasha’s gaze. she looks resigned. 

*

“do you think they need our help?”

“i’m sure they can handle themselves.”

a few hundred steps away, fjord lands face-first in a puddle, but nugget blinks out of his grasp, the package still in his snout. 

yasha looks from fjord, cursing, back to caduceus, who happily bites into an apple.

“molly would have liked you, i think,” she says slowly.

this seems to please him.

*

(beau goes through complicated choreographies each morning. defense, counter attack. turn around, defense, counter attack. to the side, defense, counter attack. attack, attack. 

_pop-pop._

she loses her coat first, her tunic soon after. 

sometimes she will turn and wink and make sure yasha notices.

and notice she does.)

*

but--

_cursed,_ is all she can think, frantically, _cursed, cursed, cursed,_ as a slap across the face brings her out of the haze that had her attacking her friends.

fjord's arm hangs limp by his side, the angle all wrong, and jester is looking at her with big, round eyes.

"you okay? you back with us? come on, yasha, come on." 

beau reaches out to slap her again, and yasha lets it happen, but the third time, she catches her wrist.

*

with the first crack of thunder, she is gone.

*

every night she dreams up weeks’ worth of dread and battlefields, drenched in rain -- she wakes up shivering, but not remembering any details. 

kord sends her where she wants to go least: back, back, back where she came from. the rain does not let up once. 

yasha isn’t sure how long she drags herself through the swamplands, but it feels like weeks before she sees something that seems more than just vaguely familiar. it’s strange, the idea that a formation of rocks could sit there so innocently, the same as it has for all of her life, but beyond it, her village might lie empty?

she can barely see the roofs of their huts and houses through the rain, and if she goes no further, she can imagine that there might still be people there. _her_ people. the people that took zuala’s life, and are still looking to take hers. 

“please,” yasha says out loud, “please just let me remember.”

but nothing comes back to her. beyond the formation of rocks she could find the grave of her tribe, or just her wife’s, or just as well her own. 

and suddenly yasha knows why the stormlord sent her here. 

she leaves a flower -- that first flower, the one nott gave to her -- behind on the rocks, and she knows she’ll never come back.

*

  


she sets down a dried blossom in the rolling green hills of the empire, leaves a flower in allfield, where they bring yeza. she lets one go into the winds of port damali that carry it out into the ocean, and sets one down on the window sill of her room in xhorhas; one, she lays down in the soft bed of moss in a deep, deep forest, and she gives one to a little girl with white-blonde curls in a place far from home. strangely, that one hurts the most. 

on watch, she places one atop a small pyramid of pebbles that she builds. they’re in the middle of nowhere. nothing extraordinary.

“didn’t you want to save those for… for your wife’s grave?” beauregard asks, and yasha can hear by the tone of her voice how hard she’s trying to sound more like jester in this moment.

suppressing a smile, she shrugs a little and says: “yeah, but... if she’s still… if she’s there somehow, i figure she could be... anywhere.”

beau, who has been poking around in the embers with a stick, making them spark and sizzle, looks up at her thoughtfully.

“i like that,” she finally responds. 

when she pulls the stick out of the dying fire, she draws a crescent moon in the dust, and yasha is overcome with a warm jumble of affection.

*

( _affection_ is not quite the right word for what she feels when beau enters the ring with her. 

_fight, fight, fight_ , the crowd cheers. 

“five gold says i could take you,” beau said earlier, and, well, it’s her funeral. 

smug and self-assured, beau is circling her now, one foot over the other, step by step, and goes in for her first attack. 

yasha blocks, knowing full well that this was beau’s intention to get her to neglect her side, but before beau can do anything further, yasha gives her a grin and a wink. the surprise on beau’s face gives her just enough time.

when beau finds herself in the dust several meters away, with the wind knocked out of her, yasha supports herself on one knee and holds out a hand to help her up. 

“i told you,” she says. “these arms a worth a lot.)

*

but here’s the thing about beauregard: sometimes yasha feels like they only really talk when they’re alone, and like the only time beau can really look at her is when it’s night. 

(it doesn’t make her take up more watches with beau. but she’d be lying if she said that there isn’t a sharp, jarring thrill running through her whenever they do end up staying up together -- yasha does not like to lie, so she keeps her mouth shut.)

it means that when they pass through the mountains south of pride’s call, beau is still and silent. 

yasha notices fjord fall back to talk to her, but judging by the way beau passes her a few moments later, she is not ready to talk -- unlike everyone else. 

“we can’t leave him there, you guys, he’s just a little kid.”

“jester, we can’t kidnap a random child, either. at least physically, he’s safe where he is.” 

“yeah, well, i can tell you from experience that, uh, physical safety is not the only thing that matters. especially within the empire.”

“they’re not grooming him the way they groomed you, they’re just… fostering his talent! isn’t that what parents do?”

“and how do you know that it’s just that, fjord? in the beginning, it was just magic lessons for me, as well, you know. and he’s only four years old. he can barely read. i know these people, and i know they are always interested in, um, talent--”

“we cannot take children away from their parents simply because they are talented with the arcane! look. all we can do is focus on ending this war. we’ve come so far, we shouldn’t risk everything for this. even if they do pick him up and take him to rexxentrum, he’s _one_ kid. compared to the fate of the whole continent--”

“--not going to stay little forever, though, is he? caleb was little once, and just imagine if he had stayed with the empire, he would be a force to be reckoned with, in the wrong hands--”

“--didn’t look happy at all with his little magic book, and--”

“--called him tillman, that alone should be an indication that they don’t love him--”

“--nott, come on, this is serious--”

“--should all calm down for a moment, sit down and talk this out--”

“--the greater good--”

that night, the first night after they’ve left kamordah, beau stays up for all three watches. yasha shares the last one, and… 

they’ve touched so many times. healing hands, fights, huddling for warmth, arm wrestling. and yet, it takes so much effort to move her hand far enough to put a hand on beau’s shoulder. 

beau hardly reacts. hardly reacts, but does not pull away. 

a few times, yasha tries to think of something to say, but nothing comes to mind.

*

it takes days for beau to finally speak in full sentences again. 

“i just thought they’d treat him better than me,” she rasps, out of context, out of practice, and out of her depth. 

*

in the end, they leave tillman where he is, and beau remains quiet and withdrawn until the sixth evening, when they make it to zadash. 

yasha, beau, and jester share their old room in the leaky tap, and here, beau finally speaks. 

“i’ve got a note,” she says to jester. “can you… y’know. call up my brother and read it to him?”

jester, visibly melting, takes the piece of scrap paper. it looks like it was taken from caleb’s stack. 

“of course, beau.”

in the morning, before they set out, yasha reaches for her book to leave a flower in zadash.

but the pages are empty.

*

“have you heard of the traveler?” jester asks the guards that wait at the entrance of their tunnel back to xhorhas, as she tattoos an adorable wolf on the curled bicep of one of them. she really has gotten so much better at it over time.

*

“hey, jester.”

“yasha! come in, come in! is everything okay? did the stormlord call you?”

“no, no. nothing like that. i just… have a favor to ask.”

“of course! is there someone you want me to message for you?”

“no, i was… i was wondering if you could do a tattoo. for me.”

jester _beams_.

*

it’s caduceus who notices first. 

“miss jester’s handiwork, i assume,” he says, with a slow grin and a nod of approval. “very nice.”

“hey, can i see?” fjord wants to know, and nott props herself up on the dining table to see her better.

yasha reaches out, letting them see the inside of her left upper arm, where now a wildflower blossoms across her pale skin. 

“very beautiful,” caleb comments in that dry manner of his; and while beau nods and jester grins happily, nott looks from the tattoo to yasha’s face and back. 

“this is never coming off! did you think this through? you know tattoos are forever, right?”

*

they almost bump into each other in the dining room in the middle of the night. 

(it’s not that yasha expected this, specifically. but she’s felt for a while that things would shift around enough to make up a situation like this one eventually.)

beau must have been working out; she’s sweaty and sloppy and half-dressed. she startles when she notices yasha standing in the room.

“hey,” she says, clutching her bandaged chest. “man, wear a bell or something. you scared me.”

yasha’s gaze falls, unintentionally, to the strong curve of her shoulder. quickly, she looks up again. “hey, beau. burning the midnight oil?”

“uh-huh.” beau raises an eyebrow and offers her smug little grin. “see something you like?” 

and surely there were times when this would have rattled her, unnerved her, would have made her tense and maybe even a little exasperated; but these days, beau can’t catch her off-guard with this. the first reason for this is simple.

“i do,” she tells her, and watches as the smirk on beau’s face becomes unsteady. she makes a step. 

“oh,” beau says, in that voice she uses when she’s feeling unsure, “well, good.” and then she adds with a shaky laugh: “what is this, the world’s most intense game of chicken?”

“maybe,” yasha responds, still not looking away.

a moment passes. to her surprise, beau takes another step. “well, i’m not it.”

yasha doesn’t feel much like herself at all, not tall and heavy and strong, but like she could just float away. not scared at all. she takes a step, too. “i’m not, either.”

and here is the second reason: when she takes beauregard’s hand in her own, the smirk slides off beau’s face entirely. 

eyes wide, she looks up at yasha, and for the first time in the months and months that they’ve known each other, appears as young as she is. yasha can feel a pulse in her fingers, and tries to tell if it’s beau’s or her own, but it’s hard to tell.

for a few moments, she doesn’t do anything else, just holds onto beau’s hand. 

then she says: “i think this means i win,” and it comes out very softly. 

with a squeeze of her hand, yasha lets her stand there.

*

_rain again. the cliff, the battle ground._

_her hands bound._

_she thinks of jester and of beau, of fjord and nott and caduceus and caleb. molly, too._

_she thinks of zuala, and the flower she will always wear close to her heart now._

_the chains crack and break, and it seems so much easier this time around. it feels like her wings were always meant to carry feathers._

**ii.**

kamordah sucks. 

beau is not currently there, but she knows that it does, because it sucks at all times. 

“maybe it’s not as bad as you remember,” jester suggested before they marched right back into a town where every single person had either fucked her over or been fucked over by her. 

and yeah, well, she was wrong. kamordah was still ripe with stuck-up rich people and disappointed criminals, and left her with a stomach-churning feeling of guilt and anxiety.

(they didn’t run into tori or any of her friends, and beau takes that to be payment for the handful of times she’s done something right since she left. thanks, world.)

they _did_ see her family, though, and her goddamn four-year-old brother, too, and that was the point where beau realized that they coming there was the biggest mistake she’d ever made.

because that kid is _fucked_. 

her father called him “magically gifted,” and didn’t even look at him once. and then…

beau shakes herself out of it, because nope. she’s not that person. she’s really not. 

there’s just one problem with that.

“hey, jes. did my brother ever… respond to that message i asked you to send?” she asked once she’d gotten her alone, and she knew the answer when jester started avoiding her eyes.

“uh, no, beau, i’m sorry. he’s still so little, maybe he didn’t know how to…”

beau rolled her eyes. “jester.”

clearly uncomfortable, jester tried again. “okay, yes, he did. he said, um… he said, ‘thanks, beau, that’s so cool and nice of you to offer to help me and get me out and stuff, but, um, i’m… quite happy here, actually! learning magic is lots of fun, and--”

“he told us to go fuck ourselves, didn’t he.”

jester winced. “he told me to tell you to screw yourself and that he doesn’t need your help. he’s not very nice for such a little boy…”

and that _should_ have given beau absolution to just forget about tillman and his stupid four-year-old-problems. she gave him an out, which was more than she ever got, and he didn’t want it. threw it in her face, even. case closed. 

except _go screw yourself_ is exactly what she would have said, and now he’s not just some theoretical baby brother anymore. now she _knows_ she’s his sister.

and, well. fuck that.

*

she is different now, she really is.

her twenty-seventh birthday has come and gone without fuss, and she still can’t believe that she’s managed to keep it from jester. there is not a doubt in beau’s mind that jester would have made a big to-do about it, gotten her a really thoughtful gift, and pressured everyone else into throwing her a surprise party, or something.

but as much as beau has changed over the past years, she has yet to master the art of responding appropriately to this kind of attention, and jester deserves better than to invest effort into celebrating a day beau really couldn’t care less about.

she doesn’t need a present to know jester cares about her, anyway. the fact that she’s still rooming with her despite her snoring is already pretty good. the guest room has been empty for a while now, and even though this was supposed to be temporary, jester never seems tempted to move out.

and beau isn’t, either. she would never admit it, but she sleeps better with someone close by. even the damn dog, who takes up a fair share of the room now.

(at least he’s stopped growing – beau thinks.)

at any rate, beau appreciates the enthusiasm with which jester cares for all of them, even if sometimes, she can’t bear it. 

she’s not one for streamers and birthday gifts, she’s more of a get drunk and eat steak type of person -- and in much the same way, she’s not the kind of woman to gush and overanalyze her feelings at a sleepover.

but sometimes, she wishes she was. 

*

“hey, caduceus.”

“oh, miss beauregard. hey.” 

when cad says _hey,_ it always sounds like he’s been getting high. (and maybe he has, who knows what’s in that tea -- not that beau has any room to judge. _heyy_.) 

rolling up the legs of her pants, she dips her feet into the warm water of the spa.

for a little while, she waits for caduceus to break the silence, because isn't he the superior communicator, here? but apparently, he is not aware of his position and responsibility, and she is not a particularly patient woman.

"where are your siblings?" 

internally, she winces a little. a little voice in her head says that she could probably have done with more tact, and that voice sounds a lot like fjord. 

but caduceus just looks at her curiously. 

"i don't know," he says, offering his lazy smile. he's definitely high. 

"do you like any of them?" beau wants to know. she can't help the intensity. 

the answer to that question seems to take him a little longer. he weighs his head from side to side. 

"well," he says, "i love them. but… _like_ is a strong word. let’s just say... i hope they're happy."

in beau’s heart is a little, ugly hole. like the one she burned into the carpet of her father’s study with one of his gross cigars.

“why did they leave?” she asks.

“huh.” caduceus looks off into the distance, as if beau had just given him a really interesting thought. “i’ll have to ask him next time i see them.”

and he smiles again.

*

_somehow diaron is wearing one of the bright queen’s gowns, and she is very mad about something._

_“i told you not to name your friends!” she shouts._

they came with their own damn names, _beau wants to defend herself, but she somehow loses her balance and stumbles backwards, and then she’s falling, backwards into nothingness--_

_slowing her fall does nothing, she’s just falling--_

this isn’t so bad _, she thinks when she lands softly, and someone is stroking her hair._

_suddenly jester is nearby, waving a flag, and beau realizes that yasha has caught her, and that she is the one still stroking her hair._

_“yasha wins!” jester declares, and--_

*

the last time she saw dairon, they fought. 

or rather, beau snapped and hissed and then walked away from her, and now she’s not sure she even still _has_ a mentor. 

but here’s the thing: she doesn’t _want_ to not get close. it’s just bad advice. 

it’s not like she’s about to tell everyone her deepest darkest secrets while braiding nott’s hair. she gets that dairon wants her to not get attached so she can always put the mission first, but that’s not really how it works for beau. 

caring about shit makes her _better._ both as a person and at… whatever it is that she does. 

not giving a shit leads to bad decisions, because why try harder? why pay attention? why wait?

it’s strange, how often she thinks about things mollymauk said, or how he would have acted, now that he’s dead -- given that she wanted to strangle him on more than one occasion while he was alive. he’s _been_ dead for longer than she knew him for, and she still thinks about him.

dairon, yasha, tillman, even jester… sometimes beau wonders if mollymauk could help her figure out what to say to any of them.

*

and look: it’s not like she meant anything by flirting with yasha.

flirting’s fun, making out is fun, spending the night is fun. getting yasha to fumble a bit by winking at her is like winning the lottery. but she wasn’t planning on doing anything _about_ it.

she definitely wasn’t expecting yasha to _flirt back_.

beau _meant_ to say something cool when it happened, and maybe just kiss her first, or at least _enjoy_ the situation, but nope. she froze up.

all she could feel was an intense desire for the ground to swallow her whole, or some kind of magical portal to appear, or maybe get eaten by a large octopus. any of those, really.

and it’s definitely not that she’s not _into_ yasha that way; yasha is six feet tall and made of muscles. whenever she pulls her sword, beau could set herself on fire.

she just… froze. maybe it was the surprise; in a million years, she would never have expected any sort of reaction from yasha. it’s their thing; beau flirts, yasha ignores it or, on occasion, makes a joke. 

yasha doesn’t step in close, and yasha doesn’t call her out on being a goddamn coward. and beau doesn’t freeze. 

they haven’t talked about it. beau is so grateful that no one else was there, because every single one of the others would have dragged her through a horribly uncomfortable conversation over it. not yasha. 

in fact, yasha hasn’t been speaking much to her at all. and so the plan is to maybe dial it back a little with the flirting. wait until things feel normal again.

unfortunately, it’s a plan that jester does not pick up on (or maybe she does, who knows with her.)

“doesn’t yasha look so pretty today, beau?” she asks one time, making beau want to vanish into another dimension. 

“yeah,” she responds with a hasty glance at yasha, and then changes the subject.

another time, yasha has picked up another order of throwing stars for beauregard, and jester _aww_ s as she hands them over. “she got you a present, beau! i think she _really, really_ likes you!”

a hollow opens up in beau’s chest, and she looks at yasha, who shrugs. 

“eh. i think two ‘really’s is pushing it.”

the others laugh, and nott gasps. “did you just make a _joke?_ ” 

she shrugs again. “yeah. i’m really funny. what about it, nott?”

beau snorts when everyone else laughs again, and the hollow in her chest slowly, slowly eases.

*

_“beau says: you don’t need (5) to answer this, but i’ll (10) check in with you_ ~~_if you like it or not_~~ _sometimes so (15) you can if you need (20) to. don’t_ _~~fucking~~ _ _swear at jester_ ~~_you tiny dick_~~ ~~_or i’ll know_ ~~ ~~_she’s nice._~~ _” (25)_

*

“hi dairon, it’s jester, you might remember me, i’m beau’s friend, and i’m blue. beau wants to know where you are, and if you’re doing--”

“that’s it,” fjord cuts in, and jester groans. 

“jester again! anyway, how are you? we’re in port damali right now, and beau was wondering if you have time to meet up and train--”

“stop,” fjord says. 

jester groans again. “it’s so difficult! do you want me to try again, beau?”

“no,” beau says hastily, “thanks, jes. this is fine.”

*

caleb gets a message from essek, and that’s how it starts.

“he says, uh,” caleb tells them, “he says we have a week before they hit rexxentrum.”

and then of course they make a plan, and of course that plan goes out the goddamn window almost as soon as they get to ikithon’s sprawled out, ridiculous, filthy rich country estate. 

(beau remembers the homes of her father’s friends, remembers being forced into scratchy dresses she felt uncomfortable in, and hates it all the more.)

caleb goes off course first.

_“caleb,_ ” beau hisses after him, “what the fuck are you doing, man, come back--”

but he’s already vanished into the darkness. 

that nott is close on his heels is practically a given at this point, and then jester joins them, too, because “we can’t let them go in there alone, guys!”

beau really doesn’t know why _she_ is always the one to be called impulsive. 

*

they’re not ready.

she knows that about four minutes in. 

ikithon has gone and left astrid and eodwulf in charge, and beau, utterly useless from afar, knows exactly what she’s doing as she scales the walls to get the drop on them.

*

her body is not hers. electricity crackles and pulls at beau’s every muscle. her body is not hers.

*

beau punches eodwulf. he’s human, so she knows exactly where his ribs are. 

oh, he tries to be tough about it, but he lets out a terrible, pained sigh the first time she hits him, and because he’s still squeezing nott’s throat shut, she doesn’t do him the kindness of placing her second punch in a slightly different spot. 

“let the goblin go,” beau says through gritted teeth, and his fingers uncurl a little. beau hears fjord roar behind her. nott drops to the floor, and by the time beau sees that he’s reaching for a glass vial on his belt, it’s too late.

she punches eodwulf. 

she punches eodwulf. 

*

her head rings. the world tilts, back and forth. she’s so far away all of a sudden.

someone screams, and then there’s fire, fire. everywhere.

_no,_ beau thinks faintly, _not like this, not for nothing--_

the lights go out.

*

“fuck,” it escapes beau, but her voice is fucked up, and when she tries to sit up, the pain makes her gasp. 

next to her, yasha winces. her face contorts in the flicker of the candle. 

“don’t get up,” she says softly. “jester and caduceus said you can’t get up.” 

the dark room is turning around her, so beau sees where they’re coming from. yasha is here, and jester and caduceus seem to be around, too. 

_caleb_ , it shoots through her, _nott_ , because if she scraped by so close, what are the chances that they’re still alive, or with them, did they--

“it’s okay.” 

beau only realizes how quick and painful her breathing has gotten when yasha places a heavy hand on her solar plexus. 

“we’re all okay. you got that guy real good, beau.”

“ikithon,” she rasps. it’s so hard to hold on. it hurts. 

yasha shushes her, moving her fingers where they still rest. it makes her aching body thrill so faintly, like a small wind-chime jangling softly down the road.

“he’s taken care of, too. don’t worry. dairon got him. there won’t be a march on rexxentrum, for now.”

beau is slipping. maybe it’s a dream. 

all a dream. 

she’s dreamed about yasha being this soft with her before, after all.

*

the next time she emerges from the blissful oblivion that is unconsciousness, she’s no longer drowsy.

“i feel like shit,” she tells caduceus, who is working his magic on her.

“oh.” he smiles at her sleepily. “you’re finally up. you broke a few things that are… really rather necessary to live, so some discomfort is to be expected, i’m afraid.”

he moves her onto her side, and when he gently puts his hand on her back, beau sees stars and groans. 

“for how long,” she wants to know. “and when can i get up?”

“not for a few days,” caduceus says, even and apologetic. beau curses. “but in good news, i think you’re well enough for a visitor.” 

and then it turns out that her strange vision of yasha must not have been a dream, because when cad leaves, he sends dairon right in. 

she’s in clean, fresh robes of the cobalt soul, and something else mingles with the pain beau is in, a harsh anxiety that she really doesn’t care for. _embarrassment._

she can’t stand dairon’s blank gaze; she turns away. 

“don’t say it,” she says, and almost swallows the last word. “we shouldn’t have gone in there. we weren’t prepared, our target wasn’t even there, and i failed.” 

dairon sits down on the chair next to her bed, crossing her legs. 

“i heard you took care of ikithon. sorry you had to clean up my mess. i take it i’m out of the expositors?”

“beauregard,” dairon begins, “what are you talking about?”

beau can’t answer. 

“you and your team took down ikithon’s star understudies in one fell swoop. i have to say, i’m impressed.” this time, dairon waits until beau turns her face towards her. “patience is important, beauregard. but sometimes, there is little time to strategize, and that is the time for actions. you and your friends rolled with the punches remarkably well. the fact that ikithon could not call for his back-up may very well have saved my life.” 

it’s silent in the room for a moment. the dog barks outside, jester’s bright laughter drifts up through the window. 

“i’m here to hopefully settle our differences.”

the moment is too heavy for beau to keep lying on her back like this. gritting her teeth, she pushes herself up on her elbows, scootches back until she can lean against the wall. sweat gathers on her forehead. 

“what do you mean,“ she breathes out. it’s more an attempt to buy time while her body calms down again than it is a question. 

kindly, dairon takes a moment. “i mean that perhaps you are right to trust these people as i trust you. and care for them…” there is a long, labored pause. “...as i care for you.” 

the meaning of what she’s saying lands very softly in beau’s brain. 

dairon gets up. 

“i must be going.” she puts a hand on beau’s shoulder. “i’m proud of you, beauregard. rest up.” 

*

_“beau says: make sure to (5) always use your own head, (10) okay? don’t_ ~~_be stupid_~~ _just trust people (15) because dad says so. no (20) need to reply to this.”_

_*_

according to caduceus, beau broke her spine, four ribs, and cracked her head when eodwulf slammed her into a pillar, but that didn’t save him from being wiped out by yasha just a moment later. 

it was caleb who dealt the last blow on astrid, though, and nott tells beau that he’s been removed, and even quieter than usual for days. 

so when beau can manage to leave her bed again, her first trip is to the bath, and her second to the library. 

“yo,” she says, sinking down on an armchair opposite him at the desk. not the smoothest start to a conversation, but he responds well to a little roughness sometimes. 

he doesn’t even look up. “glad to see you’re up and walking about; what do you need,” he murmurs into his book. 

annoyance surges up within beau, but she swallows it. 

“having you look at me while i’m trying to have a conversation with you would be a good place to start.”

he slams his book shut so quickly that it makes her flinch, but his face is as blank and calm as though nothing had happened. 

beau sighs. “look, you know i hate being vulnerable or whatever, but i almost died and everything fucking hurts, so can we just skip the bullshit? i know you’re fucked up about what happened with astrid, so can we just--”

without preamble, caleb sobs dryly, and begins to weep.

“--talk. shit. caleb…” 

instinctively, beau reaches out to put a hand on his shoulder, but yelps when a sharp pain shoots through her. caleb scoots out of her reach, burying his face in his hands.

beau doesn’t even need to hear it. he’s said it all before; she knows about his guilt and his self-hatred.

“listen, bren.”

this time it’s caleb who flinches at the use of his old name, but that is exactly what she’s going for. 

“i forgive you. okay? you’re _forgiven_.”

angrily, he wipes at his face. “this-- the things i have done-- it is not something you or anyone could just _forgive_ \--”

beau interrupts him, her words coming out hard and clear, and she pulls him into a hug despite his pain, or hers.

“you just fucking _watch_ me, caleb.”

*

recovering from a broken spine goes slowly, even with two healers around. 

sometimes beau falls asleep in the grass beneath caduceus’s tree, and wakes up in her own room. 

(sometimes she pretends to fall asleep, and lets yasha carry her up.)

*

_“beau says: today we fought (5) a weird demon, and it (10) looked exactly like uncle peregrin (15) when he’s mad or drunk. (20) hope you’re doing okay, kid. (25)”_

jester sends the message in the dark of their room, and beau closes her eyes. 

a second later, there’s a gasp that almost makes beau fall off her mattress. 

“what happened?”

“did tillman say anything?” yasha asks, from a different corner of their inn room. 

“not exactly,” jester says. “all i heard was a laugh. but he laughed at your joke, beau! he thinks your super funny and probably he wants to hang out with you because you’re so cool!”

there is nothing beau can think of to say to that.

*

dairon meets her in a town so small the gods forgot about it, and teaches her things the angry teenager that set foot into the halls of the cobalt soul for the first time all these years ago could never have dreamed of. 

“well done,” she says, setting her own arm. “one day i’ll have nothing left to show you.”

*

almost dying once is one thing. 

almost dying twice is another, apparently, because this time, she’s clearly hallucinating.

yasha stands above her, tall and incredible, light pouring from her eyes and the pair of giant, luminous wings breaking out from her shoulders; no bones, no leathery skin creaking. 

beau can feel the massive force of them as yasha beats them down -- once, twice, a third time -- and takes flight, light still radiating off her body, illuminating the desolate mountain walls around them -- 

there’s a thought, as fleeting as it is ever-present these days, but beau can’t think it out loud the same way she can’t take her eyes off yasha, high above her now.

in a wide, silvery arch, she swings her sword over her head and brings it down deep into the body of the flying fiend that’s been attacking them.

jester comes to mend her broken bones, and that must be the sudden warmth that beau is feeling.

it’s either that, or the wild, relentless, reckless realization pounding in her heart.

  


*

_“beau says: hey kid,_ ~~_i (5) don’t know when your birthday_~~ _just (5) checking in. found something today (10) that you might like. if (15) you don’t want me to (20) send it, just say ‘no’. (25)”_

*

“okay,” she tries, staring ahead very, very carefully. there are eleven mugs hanging from hooks behind the bar. the top shelf could use a good dusting. 

“yes?” jester asks to her left, smiling encouragingly at her in her peripheral vision.

when beau can’t make herself say the words, fjord continues from her right: “is this the part where you let us know what this evening’s been all about? don’t get me wrong, i appreciate the invitation. but if there’s something on your mind that you’d like to--”

“it’s yasha.”

beau’s face is burning, and she hides behind her tankard as she downs the rest of her beer. leaning over the bar, she fills it right up again. 

“is this about what happened the other day? her wings?” fjord is frowning.

“yes.” she groans. “no. i don’t know.”

“do you like her?” jester asks immediately, and beau loves her for keeping the eyebrow-waggling out of her voice. 

fjord snorts, and beau is grateful for that, too, because it means she can turn towards him and snap: “something funny?”

“well, you’ve been… pursuing her since we first met her. i had assumed that you like her.”

fuck, this is hard. beau groans again and puts her forehead onto the bar, but takes it away again quickly when she realizes how sticky it is. 

“this is different.” 

broadening his shoulders, fjord swivels the contents of his tankard around. “well, do you think… that yasha might feel the same way about you?”

and _that_ is a whole other thing that beau can’t think about.

“maybe you should ask her,” jester adds gently. “you could say something like, ‘hey yasha, i think you’re super cool and super hot and we should go out sometime, and maybe have sex and get marrieeed’...”

beau’s stomach turns. behind her eyes bloom all the flowers from yasha’s book, all the places she’s buried her wife, (all the ways in which yasha deserves someone who isn’t an asshole.)

“thanks, jes,” she responds through a closing throat, and smiles. “i’m definitely not going to do that. but thanks."

**iii.**

there is a band around the empire, a rope, or shackles, and it tightens.

they need help.

across the shearing channel and over the abyssinian sierras they go, so much farther than yasha ever believed she’d come, to find it. 

they are welcomed into the home of a family of nobles for a few nights, and deep in the belly of the whitestone library, caleb finds a word.

_aasimar_.

“i _knew_ it!” jester exclaims, her voice breaking with excitement. “see, yasha, you’re not a freak at all, you’re a cool rock angel!”

yasha’s breath spins in her lungs. it certainly explains a lot, but _celestial heritage_ is a heavy word to carry, and maybe they’re wrong, she can’t be--

“eh,” beau says, and exchanges a doubtful look with fjord.

“she eats spiders,” fjord says, shrugging.

beau makes a vague motion with her hand. “i’d say the jury is still out on the freak thing.”

yasha catches her gaze, and there’s a warm glint in her eye.

the panicked flutter in her chest calms down.

**

yasha holds the reins, and the horses pull their cart along the shoreline. jester and nott are on the eighty-senventh stanza of a halfling travel song, and a soft wind is blowing. fjord is asleep.

all is calm, except for beau’s heart that is racing at a sickening pace.

tomorrow, they’ll part ways again, if just for a little while.

it doesn’t take any effort at all to climb up on the driver’s seat, but everything else -- everything else does.

she’s sure she meant to say something. but when she holds out her right hand to yasha, no words come out. 

“oh, hey,” yasha says, gentle and a little surprised as she looks down on the stark blue flower that beau is offering. “thank you, but… my book is--” 

“this is for you,” beau interrupts her. “just… for you.”

something in yasha’s face changes. beau can’t stand it.

carefully, sets the flower down on the seat between them before hopping back down into the cart.

she closes her eyes to the ocean and the road and her friends, and holds her breath until all she knows is the rhythmic movement of the wheels below.

**

the storm carries her east. her sword sings in the rain, her heart aches for home. 

yasha wonders where home is, these days. 

**

_“be careful, tillman. i know (5) you don’t necessarily trust me, (10) but i get around, and see (15) a lot. things are changing. (20) don’t trust anyone from cerberus. (25)”_

“do you really think he’ll know what to do with that message?”

“no. but it’s all i can do for him right now.”

“is it?”

“well, what the fuck do you think i should do, fjord?” 

**

for years she has followed kord, done her best to do his bidding, tried so hard to understand his signs. 

when she finds herself at the steps of the temple on the day of the challenging, her ears full of the grating voice of the priest yelling about the prizes -- for the first time in all this time, yasha suddenly understands. 

for the first time, the path is laid out in front of her.

“win the title of _supreme champion_! enter the competition for the stormlord! win a thousand gold, the stormlord’s blessing, and a special arcane favor!”

yasha wins. she’s been the stormlord’s champion for long enough.

**

beau imagined that they would find allies in the west; a powerful druid who has seen too much trouble already, maybe, or a high-ranking politician who they would have to convince. 

by the time they let caleb teleport them all back to the xhorhaus, they have found sympathy, but no real help -- or so they think. 

but they’ve frayed the edges of the assembly, pulled at loose threads, worried the seams. 

a message from dairon waits for her.

the empire is beginning to unravel.

**

cross-legged on the floor, yasha waits. quietly.

she expected the room to be lined with shelves, filled with scrolls and books, paper and ink; whatever paradise must look like for caleb. 

instead, it’s surprisingly empty: a bed, a desk, a dresser. when yasha peeks under the bed, there is an opened and re-sealed package. the handwriting on it looks familiar. 

yasha leaves it.

she must have drifted off a little bit, because when a small voice says: “i’ve seen you before,” she startles a little. 

when she opens her eyes, she finds herself surprised at all the ways a stranger can seem so familiar. 

“that’s right,” she says slowly. “you have.”

**

“hey yasha, it’s jester… uh, things are going-- well, they’re not going _badly_ or anything, but, uhm, it would be great if we could all meet up--”

“jester,” fjord sighs, “focus, okay? this is important.”

jester sends him a murderous look, and beau is a little surprised when he only grins back at her.

“it’s me again! anyway, can you meet us in--- where again?--” 

“--druvenlode--” 

“-- druvenlode? we miss you so much, especially beau--” 

“--that’s enough, jester--”

“--you can reply to this message!”

**

yeza looks rounder, happier than the last time she saw him. 

a little more tired, too, but not in a bad way. 

“are you sure you’re okay with this?” she asks him.

he glances back over his shoulder, a little bashful, but steady.

“yeah,” he says. “‘s the least i can do after what you guys did for my family. is veth… i mean, is nott alright?”

yasha smiles. “she was great when i last saw her. she misses you both a lot.”

“yeah, well,” he pulls up his shoulders. “tell her that we miss her, too.”

**

beau climbs the tower of druvenlode’s town hall every evening for three days before she can finally make out a familiar shape in the distance.

a heavy shadow slips off her shoulders and vanishes into the crisp night air like burning paper.

(it’s strange: how the beat of her pulse goes _yasha, yasha, yasha_ at just the sight of her, no matter how much she tries to stifle it.)

beau jumps off the tower; lands like a cat.

when yasha finally comes close enough to make out her face, it has gotten dark, and beau can only see her in the soft light of a torch.

it takes her a moment to notice, but braided into the mane of her hair, yasha is wearing a slightly wilted stark blue flower.

**

caleb dies.

under nott’s incessant wailing, caduceus trades the wildmother a diamond and his deepest thanks for his life, bringing him back gasping and grasping at beau’s hands. 

yasha’s fingers and feet and face still feel numb from the shock of it when the vollstrecker makes his final mistake. 

she wipes the sweat from her brow.

she can’t help but appreciate the image of this cold-blooded enemy being brought down by a pack of tiny, translucent unicorns. 

**

“ _beau says:_ ~~_seriously, i tell (5) you to be careful and (10) you just go with a (15) stranger_~~ _i’m glad you’re (5) safe with yeza. play nice (10) with luke_ ~~ _, okay? don’t let (15) anyone take you away from (20) them without_ ~~_. i will bring (15) you home again once it’s (20) safe. stay where you are. (25)”_

**

it is very strange to think that the day the dwendalian empire falls could just be a spring day in dualahei. a folsen, if yasha is not mistaken. 

and, as it happens, the day of wild’s grandeur. 

caduceus and fjord decide to split first; as loyal followers of the wildmother, they are needed near the secret temple. 

“blood will be shed,” caduceus says, so simply that it must be true. “the wildmother’s children will need all the help they can get.”

it’s loyalty to their goddess, and yasha understands all too well.

caleb is next; he receives a message from essek. it’s an invitation to lend his powers to the shadowhand’s division, and he accepts. 

nott, furious, grabs him hard by the front of his shirt when he tells them. 

“you listen to me, caleb widogast,” she rasps at him. “if you think you can sneak off and sacrifice yourself--”

but caleb puts a hand over hers. “i promise you i will come back. i _promise_ you. and you will, too.”

his eyes leave nott’s, glancing at all of them. “when all is said and done, we will meet at the temple of the wildmother. i promise.”

“you can’t promise that,” beau interjects, probably just to make a point. 

but caleb gives a fox-like grin that yasha has never seen on him before. 

“just watch me, beauregard.”

there’s something wild in his eyes, and jester is the first to nod. “yes, i promise too, caleb. alright, nobody die, okay?”

and it’s so easy to say yes, so easy to imagine that they’ll all reconvene in just a few hours, even if they all know how much can happen in a day.

as they watch the men take their leave, beau pulls yasha back a few steps. 

“i never really thanked you enough,” she says, “for getting my brother out and to safety. you didn’t have to do that, and honestly… i’m not sure i would have. but right now, it’s really good to know that he’s not where cerberus thinks he is.”

“it was nothing,” yasha tells her. 

beau’s expression is guarded, too smooth. 

everything she says sounds like a sentence left unfinished. 

for a moment, yasha thinks she’s going to leave it at that, swallow whatever it is that’s on the tip of her tongue, and leave her guessing as she usually does. but then--

“there’s one more thing.” 

something tickles her fingers, and yasha’s blood drops when she looks down to see that beau has taken her hand. her consciousness seems to widen; she almost misses what beau says next. 

“if… when we get out of here, we should talk sometime. have a drink. there’s something i should tell you.”

before she can say anything, beau has squeezed her hand and joined the others again. yasha watches as they exchange a few words.

beau and jester hug. 

yasha’s gaze trails over the people on the dusty road of this small town, until it catches on a human woman. she’s never seen her before, but she knows exactly who she is when she sees the ring on her finger. 

and sure enough, a few moments later, beau has stepped away to join her.

her lungs ache.

it never occurred to yasha that they might not see this through side by side. 

**

“dairon.” 

“yes, beauregard.”

“i’m… a little scared.”

“good. you should be. maybe it will keep you alive.”

“not of _them_. i’m scared we could just… make things worse. if the empire falls, who knows who or what will fill the void?”

dairon stops walking, and looks at beau. really looks at her. 

“remember when i said i might not have anything more to show you?”

of all the things she could have said, this is by far the worst. 

beau nods, anyway.

but dairon is smiling, now. “well, i think it is time i show you one more thing.”

**

nott’s hands are steady on her crossbow as she picks off the crownsguard one by one. 

“and i’m not even drunk,” she tells them proudly. 

jester almost gives away their position when she squeals and tackles nott in a hug. 

for a moment, yasha closes her eyes and thinks of molly, of all the things she didn’t know about him and never will, of his easy grin and how glad she is that she didn’t see the life in his eyes fade. 

“come on, guys,” she whispers. “time to do our part. does anyone still remember the plan?”

“yasha!” jester squeaks. 

“joking. let’s go.”

“you know,” nott tells her as she catches up with them, “you _are_ pretty funny.”

**

rexxentrum is burning. 

it should not make beau feel more alive.

but she knows she’s not alone: the kryn are coming from the east, and by now, yasha, nott, and jester should have managed to open the secret gate -- and if what dairon says is true, the expositors are everywhere, doing their part. 

(she always knew it couldn’t just be her and dairon. but it’s another thing to know they’re not alone, that she and her friends don’t have to be the ones trying to fix things on their own, that she can be part of something bigger that doesn’t restrict her.)

somewhere below the city, the knights of requital are waiting. 

swiping the evidence from under the emperor’s nose was so much easier than beau thought. sometimes she can feel it, how much she’s changed; how easy it is to stay still until the right moment where the itch to act would have consumed her a few years ago.

behind her, someone shouts.

they’ve seen her.

but it doesn’t matter, because it has all already happened: the assembly has lost their head. the tal’dorian forces will never come to the empire’s aid. and beau has all the proof of corruption they might need later.

with her feet barely touching the blackened roof tiles below, she lets the growing wind push her forward, faster and faster, because at the other end of the city -- many, many roofs away -- her friends are waiting at a temple that will not have to be secret for much longer.

**iv.**

zadash feels like coming home; it always does. 

beau may think of herself as a hardened fighter, but even her heart mellows a little when nott breaks away from their little group to sprint away when she sees yeza and luke waiting for her at the gate. tillman is with them.

luke doesn’t even flinch when she approaches them, and instead immediately tries to pull her away towards the inner city, where the highsummer festivities surely must have started already. 

awkward and unsure, tillman looks on.

“hey,” beau says, and crouches down to be on eye-level with him. “long time no see.”

he’s wearing clothes beau is sure must have belong to luke at some point, and pulling at the sleeves. he doesn’t say anything, but when he dares to meet her eyes, he doesn’t look hostile. he just looks like a kid. 

“how’s it been staying with yeza and luke?”

tillman shrugs his shoulders. 

“been nice,” he says. “yeza makes me fold my clothes before i go to sleep, but i don’t have to do so much homework. and he never yells at me.”

“sounds like a good deal.” beau swallows the rising anger at her parents. “do you want to go back home?”

at that, tillman looks up very quickly. “now?”

beau shrugs. “if you want to.” 

there’s a moment of silence between them, and she notices with gratitude that her friends have started chatting with yeza, giving them a little privacy.

tillman shrugs, too, the same way she did. “maybe we can wait until after the festival?” 

the smirk creeps up on her face before she can reign it in. “sure, kid. but you listen to the grown-ups, okay?”

letting his head drop back, he rolls his eyes. “listen to the grown-ups, stay where you are, don’t trust people… you always order me around!”

“big siblings are like that, i’m afraid,” caduceus cuts in. “but sometimes they buy you candied apples, and then it’s mostly worth it.” 

the city is _glowing_. it’s always had this glamorous quality to it, but there’s something different about it these days. something that reminds beau of molly. 

(maybe one of these days, she’ll ask jester for a tattoo.)

“we should move here,” she tells the others. “get a second house, or something.”

“i surely wouldn’t mind a little more daylight,” fjord agrees.

beau buys candied apples and little wooden swords for luke, tillman, jester, and herself, and gets the news from from a girl shouting out headlines.

a new council has been chosen; some of the names on the list are familiar.

“this is why we did all this,” caleb says, accent heavier than usual. there’s a blush high on his cheeks.

“you know what?” fjord says, exuberantly slapping his palm down onto caleb’s shoulder. caleb seems to shrink a little. “you promised we’d all make it out, and we did. i’ll buy you a book for that, just pick whatever you want.”

“you’re… going to a bookstore with me?”

fjord pulls his hand back and blanches. “well, no. i’ll just give you the money.”

it’s not even all that funny, but it’s not like they have to be stingy with laughs anymore, hoard them and wait for a really good opportunity to laugh, or something. they all just laugh. 

and, speaking of promises. 

beau lets herself fall back slowly. ahead of the group, the two boys are chasing each other around with their swords. 

slower and slower beau walks, until she finally winds up next to yasha.

she’s almost not scared anymore.

almost.

**

in xhorhas, the nights would get too humid and cool to really be comfortable, no matter the season. 

but high up on the roof of one of the spires that belong to the archive of the cobalt soul, the air is still mild and warm. 

the city below is still celebrating, even though some people must have already fallen into bed. caleb, happy with his stack of new books, is back at the pillow trove, watching over tillman and luke as they sleep, to give yeza a night off. 

it seems like they are the only three, though, because the streets are still filled with dancing lights and people, with music and laughter. 

“i used to sneak up here all the time,” beau says, her eyes gliding over zadash as it sprawls out beneath them. 

yasha knows where they are headed, or thinks that she does. her heart is beating hard in her throat with anticipation, betraying the relaxed hum in her muscles.

“did you ever get caught?” she asks. 

what she doesn’t know is how to get there, from where they are right now. 

the night breeze is so gentle. 

beside her, beau laughs quietly. “once or twice. zeenoth almost pulled his pretty hair out. he--”

“beau.” she feels so strange, and a little dizzy.

she sure hopes they won’t fall off this roof, and that she still knows how to do this.

reaching out, yasha turns beau’s face towards her -- there’s a thin scar curving below her left eye; her lashes are so long that it always catches yasha by surprise --

kissing is not how she remembers it.

no, it’s so different with beau; different than she thought it would be, different than yasha remembers it being with zuala.

something new, all on its own.

beau lifts one hand to cup yasha’s jaw; she kisses her slowly. with time and patience.

what a strange thing to be doing for two warriors, for two friends, so far above the highsummer celebrations. except yasha doesn’t feel like a warrior at all in this moment. or like beau’s friend. 

“what was it that you wanted to tell me?” yasha asks when they come apart again somehow; it comes out so much softer than she thought it would.

“hm?” beau seems dazed, and takes a moment to recover. “oh, yeah. that. just that… i’m in love with you, or,” she stumbles over her own breathing, “or something.”

maybe it’s the sun coming up, even if it’s far too early for that still, or maybe there’s a field of flowers in her chest, blooming all at once, but yasha feels like she might lift off at any moment.

“you are?”

she can’t take her eyes off beau. the sharp stroke of her eyebrow, the curve of her mouth. 

“yeah,” beau murmurs. “i hope that’s… okay.”

yasha smiles carefully. “sure it’s okay. i think i’m in love with you, or something, too.”

for a long time, they just look at each other. yasha doesn’t know what this means, how this could work, or where they’ll go. but it doesn’t matter; not yet. 

it’s been so long. they can have this moment.

then, breaking the silence so suddenly that it startles yasha, beauregard groans and lets her forehead fall against yasha’s shoulder. 

“what’s wrong?”

scooting a little closer, beau lets her head rest where it is, but turns to overlook the city again.

“jester is gonna be _insufferable_ about this when she finds out.”

it feels like the easiest thing in the world to put an arm around her shoulders. 

“you’re worried about jester? i was thinking about nott.”

beau groans again, and then laughs. 

slowly, almost tentatively, she intertwines her fingers with yasha’s, like someone might notice. 

yasha squeezes back.

the secret of how soft and shy beau can be is safe, safe, safe with her.

**Author's Note:**

> i was just going to type out my feelings in the notes app on my phone real quick, and then it turned into A Thing. it's unpolished and barely edited because i don't have the time or the energy at the moment (real life is demanding, yo), so i wasn't going to post this, but @thegaysmurf caught my typos and said i should do it. (thanks, smurf! <3)
> 
> tell me your thoughts, if you can spare the time!


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